


Albin

by niblick_iii



Series: Songs on the Sand [2]
Category: La Cage aux Folles - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:34:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niblick_iii/pseuds/niblick_iii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments that Albin will never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Albin

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Georges](https://archiveofourown.org/works/688071) by [niblick_iii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niblick_iii/pseuds/niblick_iii). 



> A sort of companion piece.

One of Albin’s earliest memories is dancing round the living room with his mother. Whenever his father was away on business, which was a lot, she would take the gramophone out of its hiding place under the stairs, and they would both prance around the house, singing at the top of their lungs, six-year-old Albin trying to imitate his mother’s voice.

He remembers putting his feet into his mother’s shoes and following her around the kitchen, tottering on the too-high heels. He remembers playing at being princesses and doing his mother’s make up.  He remembers laughing with his mother as she waltzed him round the room, the skirt of her dress flying around. He remembers thinking she looked like a fairy queen. He remembers the argument the day his father found the gramophone. He remembers hiding in his room, face buried in his pillow, listening to his father ranting about frivolities, and the family’s reputation and all manner of things he didn’t understand. He remembers wishing he was anyone else other than who he was. He remembers seeing the splintered wood of the gramophone in the rubbish the next morning. He remembers his mother’s red-rimmed eyes and the darkening bruise on her cheek.

They hadn’t danced together again after that, but one day when Albin was about 9, his mother drove him to the next town to see Mme Babineaux for a singing lesson. It was delicious having a secret from his father again. Being once more in their secret little club for two.

Some days, after his lesson, he would hide away in his room, and put on the old dress and shoes of his mother’s that he had rescued once when she had been throwing them out. He would dress up and pretend that he was not one of the illustrious Laroche family, that he was allowed to do what he wanted, that he didn’t have  to uphold the family reputation, that he didn’t have to grow up to be a businessman. He was never really sure what it was his father did, all he knew was that he didn’t want to be him.

* * *

There was one day, when Jean-Michel was about three and he and Albin were walking down the street on their way to the park, when Jean-Michel looked up at Albin and said in that very serious way young children have, “Albin, are you my maman? Because Anton said you have to have a maman and a papa, and papa is my papa, so are you my maman?”

Albin had hoped that he wouldn’t have to have this conversation for a while, and that if he did, Georges would at least be around. Taking a few deep breaths and trying to work out what the _hell_ he was going to say, he spotted a nearby bench. He sat Jean-Michel on it and explained to him that his maman was a lady called Sybil, who, no matter how much she wanted to be, couldn’t be there to look after him, so had asked Albin to help his papa for her.

Jean-Michel looked thoughtful for a few seconds and said “Well that’s just silly. You will have to be my maman instead.”

* * *

“Maman! Maman!”

Albin heard the sound of a hurt child shouting and rushed outside to find Jean-Michel.

The boy had been playing on the street outside the apartment, riding his bike up and down the path. He had got the bike for his 5th birthday three months ago and it was his prized possession. It was green and had a bell and things that made noise on the spokes and was his first big boys’ bike without stabilisers and it was absolutely the best thing ever.

When Albin reached the street, it was  to find Jean-Michel sitting crying on the kerb outside the building, his bike lying on its side on the path a little way up the street, one wheel still spinning slowly.

“Jean-Michel, are you OK?” Albin sat down next to him on the pavement, “Why is your bike all the way up there?”

“Maman.” Jean-Michel turned and wrapped his arms around Albin, burying his face in his side.

“I fell off my bike, Maman. I was going to be a big boy and not cry, and I was coming to tell you, but then my knee hurt and then I, I, I…” Jean-Michel dissolved into tears.

Albin noticed that Jean-Michel’s knee was grazed and bleeding.

“Oh my love, yes I can see where you hurt it. Let’s go in and sort you out.”

He picked up the boy and Jean-Michel wrapped his arms round Albin’s neck, clinging to him with his legs, sniffling into his collar.

Albin walked to the kitchen and set Jean-Michel on the work-surface, legs dangling over the side. He then went to get the first aid kit out of the cupboard and wiped the blood off of Jean-Michel’s knee. Jean-Michel squeaked in pain when the cloth brushed over the cut.

“I know, mon petit captitaine, I know. But I’m going to have to put some iodine on it now.  I know it’s going to sting, but can you be a big brave boy for me, my love?”

Jean-Michel bit his lip and tears brimmed over to spill down his cheeks as Albin dabbed some iodine on the cut, and put a sticking plaster over it.

“Well done, petit lapin, you were very brave. Let Maman kiss it better and then let’s go and find papa and get some ice cream.”

Albin bent over and placed a small kiss over the plaster and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away Jean-Michel’s tears, kissing his son’s cheeks as he did so. He lifted the boy down from the counter, and the two of them walked hand in hand to La Cage.

* * *

Albin will never forget Jean-Michel’s first day at collège. How he came home with his tie hanging round one ear, mud and grass stains all over his shirt, his brand new satchel broken, and tears glistening in his eyes.

“Mon coeur, mon coeur, my love, what happened? Come here, sit down, and tell your maman all about it.”

Albin rushed over to the eleven-year-old standing forlornly in the doorway and led him to the chaise. Getting a damp cloth from the kitchen, he started wiping the mud off of Jean-Michel’s face, but the boy pulled away.

“Nothing happened, nothing,” he said, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“Don’t give me that, Jean-Michel; you are not a Labrador puppy, so you have no excuse for rolling in the mud. What happened?”

“Nothing, I just… got into a fight on the way home from school.”

 “It was nothing, just some of the older boys. You know, picking on the new kids.”

“Well, really! Who was it? Tell me their names. I’ve half a mind to go round there. Do the teachers know what’s going on? If I get hold of them, I’ll, I’ll…” Albin waved the cloth in his hand menacingly; unable to articulate a threat terrible enough for those who dared to hurt his baby boy.

“No, no! Don’t do that. Its ok, Albin, really it is. I… I started it,” Jean-Michel finished in a small voice.

“Started..? You… started...why? Young man, your father and I have brought you up better than that. Why on earth did you start a fight?”

“They were saying things.”

“Saying things? And you thought that was a good reason to start a fight?”

“They were saying things about you and papa”

“I’m sure they couldn’t have said anything bad enough…”

Jean-Michel interrupted, “They called papa a stupid poof and you a fat flouncing fairy. I told them it wasn’t true and they laughed and called you a pair of dirty fags. So I hit them. But there were three of them, and they were bigger than me, and they broke my bag and I’m sorry.”

With that, the tears that had been threatening since he walked in the door broke free, and Jean-Michel began to cry.

“I’m sorry maman, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let them say that about you, I couldn’t,” Jean-Michel sobbed. “I couldn’t,” he repeated, raising his chin defiantly, a fierce light in his eye.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s ok,” soothed Albin, pulling the boy close to his side and stroking his hair gently. “Sometimes in life you meet people, stupid, ignorant people, who try and make anything they don’t understand seem horrible and wrong. The best thing to do is to ignore them, and remember that it’s their fault and not yours, okay?”

Tears under control once more, Jean-Michel nodded.

“Good. Well come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and I think there is some chocolate cake in the fridge.”

Albin will never forget the last day Jean-Michel called him maman.

 


End file.
